The Calling of the Storm
by Jolie.Mots
Summary: "He seemed to bring the wildness of Faerie into the room with him: a cold, sweet magic that was nevertheless bitter at the roots. He held out a hand to her, half-beckoning, half-offering. 'Why lie' he said." The four times Emma resisted the calling of the storm, and the one time she did not.
1. The Bitterest of Tears

" _The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone."_

-Harriet Beecher Stowe

The magic that seemed to have charged the air around them now danced beneath her skin when Mark's hands touched her. She had tentatively taken his offered hand, taken a careful step closer to where he stood.

Despite the mischief in his eyes and the tight grasp on her hand, he did not physically bring her closer to him, for which she was grateful. There was turmoil in her heart, an ache in her chest as if she were being pulled in two. It was pain that she had never felt before. She had experienced the absolute devastation of losing her parents, the sorrow as she watched Julian carry the weight of the world on his young shoulders, the throb of loneliness in those brief moments that she was reminded that she wasn't actually a part of this little family, but a guest tied with iron thread to one of its members.

She was no stranger to pain. But this was new, the agony of having to choose between loving Julian the way every fiber of her being demanded her to, or protecting him from certain destruction. And the worst part was that he could not know that the pain she was inflicting on _him_ was to protect him.

And so she exercised her rarely-used caution, moving slowly into Mark's embrace. He lowered his head, a question forming in his mismatched eyes. Emma answered by closing the space herself. His lips were soft, and there was a sweetness to them, as if Emma were tasting an unfamiliar fruit. Kissing Mark was pleasant, and Emma sighed a bit into his mouth when he gently nipped at her lower lip.

His hands, surprisingly warm, meandered from her hands over her wrists, pausing at the crooks of her elbows before resting at the tops of her arms. He used his hold there to draw her closer so that she had to tip her head up to keep her lips on his. As his long Blackthorn fingers wove themselves into her hair, Emma was suddenly aware that her own hands were hanging lamely at her sides. She lifted them then to his waist, bunching his t-shirt in her fists.

Mark must have taken this as encouragement as he broke away from her to kiss the corner of her mouth, the angle of her jaw, the pulse at her temple; his lips lingered at the sensitive skin behind her right ear, and Emma felt her stomach flutter in response. There was a teasing nature to Mark's ministrations, his Faerie blood and natural prowess mingling to form an intoxicating experience for Emma.

When he drew back with a knowing grin, the light of the sunset coming in through the window illuminated his dilated eyes, one the color of molten gold and the other—

Emma's fluttering stomach felt as if it had jumped into her chest. She took in a shuddering breath, placing one hand over her tormented heart and the other on the side of Mark's face. She hoped that he would perceive her reaction as one of nervousness or being overwhelmed.

After a moment of stillness, he brought his hand over hers, drawing it away from his face to his lips, where he placed a soft kiss on the inside of her palm.

She could not meet his gaze or say a word, and she felt weak. She hated feeling weak. But seeing that Blackthorn blue-green hue, even if it was only reflected out of one of Mark's eyes, seeing one of Julian's eyes looking back at her was like being hit by a truck right now. Feeling like you were being hit by a truck didn't exactly inspire the sex kitten in anyone.

"Perhaps at another time, we can put some truth behind this strange lie you wish to tell. But not tonight. Tonight, I will leave you to sleep alone and make liars of both of us." The gentleness of his voice stirred a fondness for Mark in Emma, and without looking him in the eyes, she drew his face back down to hers for one more kiss. It was chaste and warm, and Mark obliged her for a few seconds before pulling away, carefully removing her arms from around his neck.

When he was out of the room, the door shutting with a click, Emma sank to the floor. She drew in her knees, hugging them to herself, making herself as small as possible. She was a monster, she was hurting the one person to whom she was bound, hurting him purposefully in the most visceral way.

With the taste of Mark's kiss still on her lips and the memory of Julian's touch in the forefront of her mind, Emma Carstairs wept the bitterest of tears.


	2. The Heart Dies a Slow Death

" _The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains."_

-Arthur Golden

It was a chilly night, the brisk air blowing through Emma's tangled mass of blonde curls. She didn't notice.

She wasn't noticing much, as she carefully placed one foot in front of the other, the roof shingles feeling rough under her bare feet. She caught her balance quickly as her left foot nearly missed the narrow apex she was walking across like a balance beam, giggling uncharacteristically in surprise. Between her shadowhunter blood and the fading balance rune on her shoulder, the task shouldn't have been difficult by any means.

But the nearly empty bottle she was holding made it a much more dangerous adventure than her trips to the roof peaks usually were.

"Emma?"

She turned, nearly toppling over again, her toes curling against the abrasive surface, searching for purchase to keep her upright. It was well past midnight, and the moon was just a sliver of a crescent, so the night was as dark as it was chilly.

But she recognized the curvy figure and the anxious stance that Dru often took, shoulders rounded forward, arms about herself, as if to make herself smaller. She was standing on the flattest portion of the roof, the part they usually stayed on. There was a slight yellow glow coming out from the window Dru had climbed through.

"Emma, are you okay? What are you doing up there?" her voice was as stressed as her stance.

"I'm just peachy, Dru. In fact why don't you come join me?" Emma sloshed around the few dregs of liquid, taking vicious pleasure in the thought of what Julian's face would look like if he knew that she was trying to ensnare his baby sister into Emma's personal darkness. It was far from like her to revel in the thought of upsetting Julian, especially at the expense of one of the kids.

"Emma, come down from there. Please."

"No." Emma was vaguely aware of how petulant she sounded, but she spun on her toes anyway to face away from Dru's wide and worried eyes. They were too blue-green. The world didn't stop spinning when she did, though, so she nearly fell off again, barely catching herself on all fours.

Miraculously, the bottle was still clutched in her hand. Emma heard Dru clambering through the window, no doubt going to get someone to help.

 _Great_ , she thought, picturing the way Julian's lips would be pursed, his eyes hard with both disapproval and concern, possibly pity for how pathetic she had become. She could hear his voice, how the tone would be calm, but firm enough to not leave any question that she was going to do as he said. She would resist at first, but give in once he finally resorted to grabbing her hand. He would place his arm around her waist to keep her from falling, then guide her carefully off the sharply slanted roof.

He would take the bottle from her hand and dump it out, then take her to her room. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine that the cool wind on her neck was his sigh of disapproval as he would take off the gear jacket she still wore unzipped over her white tank top. She would feel the loss of his body heat sharply, and have to violently fight the urge to pull him down on top of her as he would push her gently down on top of her bed covers.

"Emma,"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked down to the roof. It wasn't Julian, and Emma felt her heart fall in disappointment at the sight of the pale blonde head. Of course it wasn't Julian; she chastised herself for even hoping for him.

 _Parabatai_ were needed in battle, and their battle with demons was over for the night. This wasn't a _parabatai_ 's problem. It was a boyfriend's job to take care of her pathetic drunk ass, and as far as everyone else knew, Mark was her boyfriend.

The fake boyfriend in question had gracefully hoisted himself up onto the peak she was now sitting on. She was facing the inky black ocean, listening to the invisible waves crashing onto the beach below. He was lean and lithe, like the sleek wild cats that Ty loved to study. She watched him carefully as he made his way towards her, lowering himself to sit beside her on the apex. He was extremely attractive, she knew that. But he wasn't who she had so vividly imagined coming to rescue her from herself.

He took the bottle from her hand, and she barely resisted.

Mark sniffed at it, "This is fairie liquor."

"Courtesy of the Shadow Market."

Emma looked him square in the face, which was difficult, since her brain was hazed over by the alcohol. She was looking for the exasperation, the chastisement, the disappointment that she knew she would have gotten if Dru had fetched Julian instead of Mark.

But he just studied her back, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. He took a swig himself, before dumping the last bit out. He caressed the oddly delicate bottle with his fingers for a moment before crushing it in his fist. Emma took in a surprised gasp, before realizing that it didn't shatter like glass. Instead, it dissolved into something like glittering dirt.

Mark held his hand out, and they both watched as the bottle blew away on the breeze.

"You fought finely tonight, Emma Carstairs."

Emma didn't respond. She already knew she had kicked some serious demon ass. She didn't need her gorgeous fake boyfriend to tell her so.

"Did you have a star for me?" Emma wasn't sure where the question came from, and it was already out before she could consider whether to ask or not.

Mark quirked an eyebrow at her in question, so she elaborated, speaking carefully. "You said that when you were with the Hunt, you would name a star for each of your siblings every night. Were any of the stars named Emma?"

She knew Mark wouldn't lie. He was not truth-bound the way a full faerie was, but he would not lie to her.

He was silent for a moment before answering, "No."

She had expected it to sting, but it did not. She felt both empty and full to bursting at the same time, and there was no room to feel the sting of exclusion right now. She would save that pain for later, when she was sober.

He held out a hand to her silently, and she took it, giving up hope that the midnight air would clear her head. She had muddled it too much tonight for it to clear that easily.

Mark hopped gracefully down, then turned to help her down. She ignored his proffered hand, and toppled to the ground with barely as much grace as a mundane would have managed. The balance rune had faded to a useless scar, and the faerie liquor had taken full charge of her faculties by now. She appreciated that Mark refrained from laughing as she picked herself off the flat roof surface.

It wasn't the arm she had imagined around her waist, nor was it the firm voice she had thought would be the one guiding her down the hall to her room. It wasn't the artist's hands that helped her out of her gear, but the hunter's. It wasn't the light brown head that bent over her as she was laid down carefully, but the pale blonde. It wasn't the uniform blue-green gaze that checked her bare skin for injuries, but the broken bicolored one.

Just as the question about the stars had come up without her permission and forced its way out into reality, a wave of lust charged under her skin, like she was being electrocuted from within.

Her hands caught into his hair before he could pull away, and she used the other arm to pull him down onto the bed, rolling him over her so that she sat astride his hips on the bed. He was looking up at her with wide eyes, frozen in surprise.

She lowered herself onto him, kissing him with a fervor that surprised even her. It was like feeding a fire; the more she tasted his sweetness, the more she craved. And after a moment's hesitation, he responded.

Without thinking, she tore her tank top off, throwing it to the floor, then continued with renewed vigor. She kissed his hot mouth, the pulse in his neck, the dip at the base of his throat. She clawed at the hem of his shirt, lifting it so that she could kiss the skin of his chest; he tore it all the way off, tossing it to the floor. Mark groaned, his hands gripping her waist tightly. He would probably leave bruises there, and that satisfied her for some reason.

She moved her mouth back to his as his hands roamed down to her hips, then around to grab her butt. She ground her hips into his, eliciting a deeper groan from him as he tightened his grip on her. She smiled against his lips at his response, the one she could hear and the one she could feel. When she bit his bottom lip, he flipped her over so that his chest was pressing heavily into her own, his hips nestled between her thighs. He pressed himself forward and she wrapped her legs around his hips to lock her ankles together, pulling him even tighter to her; Emma's eyes rolled back at the friction it created.

His breath was hot on her neck as he tugged her hair roughly, tipping her chin towards the ceiling to expose more of her tender flesh to him. She dragged her nails across his back as his fine hair tickled her breasts, his lips peppering her chest with wet kisses.

When it came to forgetting the dark place she often found herself in, his body was better than alcohol, even the faerie variety. And it tasted a hell of a lot better.

"Mark," her voice was barely a whisper, but it halted his actions. It was as if she had woken him up to the realization of what was happening between them.

He resisted her weak attempts to pull him back as he carefully extricated himself from her limbs.

"Mark, what's wrong?" she hated how pathetic she sounded, breathless and weak with desire.

He pulled his shirt back on, taking a deep breath himself before speaking.

"Not tonight, Emma."

"What? Why not?" Yep, she definitely hated how desperate she was coming off, but the words just kept spilling from her mouth, beyond her control.

"You are not yourself right now. And it would be wrong of me to take advantage of you in such a state."

"No, you know what would be wrong? Winding me up like a wind-up toy and then…" she trailed off unhappily, unable to think of the way in which one would prevent a wind-up toy from doing whatever wind-up toys did, but her brain seemed to be going slower by the second.

He smirked, "I'm sure you'll find a way to unwind." His eyes twinkled mischievously, which only served to frustrate her further.

"Fine, get out."

She felt embarrassed, rejected, and out of sorts. She avoided meeting his eyes, hating how vulnerable she felt. It was not like her to feel like this, to be in this position.

He took a quick breath, his smirk fading into a resigned grin.

"Goodnight, Emma. I can see the faerie liquor in your eyes like a neon sign; you need to sleep."

He placed a peck on her swollen, pouting lips before leaving quietly. She threw herself back down onto the pillows. Mark didn't realize he wasn't just leaving her frustrated and unsatisfied, but that he was leaving her alone to dwell on her broken heart, too.

A/N: Thank you to my guest reviewer! It means a lot to hear what readers think :)


	3. All We Can Do

" _Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim."_

-Vicki Harrison

The waves were abnormally high, colliding with the shore in deafening crashes that sprayed everything with droplets of seawater. Emma felt like she was being swallowed by the sea; it was terrifying, inescapable, all-encompassing. It was like a rhythm, an ebb and flow. But always there, growing in intensity.

There was incredible sadness, a deep ache of loss that accompanied the waves. Emma clutched her heart, feeling as if it would rip in two. She lost control, unable to resist the pull of the monstrous waves any longer, and she succumbed to their will. They tore at her, pulling her in all directions. She couldn't breathe, she was drowning, and there was nothing she could do but endure the pain.

Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, and she was being pulled deeper and deeper beneath the waves. It was calmer underneath it all, still agonizing, but she wasn't being flung about like a limp piece of seaweed anymore. Just before it all ended, Emma caught a glimpse of something floating a few feet from her.

Julian. Her Jules.

He was floating there, motionless, eyes closed. This was a mercy; Emma didn't know if she could look into his eyes right now and add to her pain. There was the tiniest furrow to his brow, a tightness to his lips. She knew his every look, his every expression, and she knew that he was in pain, trying to tighten his face to refrain from showing how sad he was.

And then it all went black.

Emma sat up, panting, in a sweat, her sheets tangled about her body. She must have fought her bedding the way she had been fighting the waves in her dream. She put a hand over her beating heart, trying to will it to a normal rhythm.

She had had nightmares before, most of them including the ocean and drowning. But this one was different. There was a sadness pressing down on her like a weight, and her shoulders ached as if she were carrying it physically.

This was different, and she hated that she couldn't get herself under control.

She shivered, the sweat cooling on her skin and a breeze fluttering the curtain over her open window. Emma looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly 4:30 a.m. No wonder it was so dark. It was always darkest before the sunrise.

She got up, witchlight in hand, and pulled a sweater over her tank top. There was no point in going back to sleep now, she told herself, though deep down she knew she was afraid of returning to her dreams.

She left her room, her bare feet silent on the cool floors of the hallway. She kept the witchlight low so that she was just able to see a few feet in front of her. The Institute was haunting when it was this quiet and empty and dark. The high ceilings, the wide halls, the occasional painting on the wall depicting some heroic shadowhunter performing some heroic deed.

There was one on the second floor that Emma was particularly drawn to; it showed Beric the Badass, as she liked to call him, riding a shark into the depths of the Pacific to slay a horde of water demons that had been terrorizing ships for years, and no one but he had been brave enough to go down there.

Whether it was true or not, she wasn't sure. But he was legendary in the Los Angeles Conclave for his bravery and, in Emma's opinion, fantastic man bun that he was always sporting in the paintings.

But she didn't go to visit Beric. Instead, she found herself outside of Mark's door without even realizing where she was going.

She was lonely. So lonely, it felt crushing. It was abnormal for her to feel it this strongly, but tonight it was like a vice around her chest, and she craved closeness to someone. Despite this, she hesitated at his door, studying the fine wood grain and detailed molding.

She placed her palm flat against the door, feeling the solid wood, pressing her fingertips into it. She knew Mark wouldn't turn her away if she simply opened the door and climbed into his bed. She didn't even necessarily want anything other than to be held, to feel the warmth of another person, to be next to someone who knew her and cared for her. Someone to take a little bit of this sadness off her shoulders. And he would give her that without question.

But she didn't go in.

Emma felt herself being pulled away, like there was an invisible line drawing her somewhere else, and she couldn't resist.

She let her hand slide away from the door and turned, silently moving away from what she thought she wanted. She walked down the hall and down the back stairs. The kitchen was still a mess from Tavvy's birthday party the previous week, so Emma had to step around deflated balloons and fallen streamers. She continued, walking down the hall to the front doors and out into the cool night air.

The sky had lightened ever so slightly, a deep purple instead of black. She instinctively curled her toes as she stepped off of concrete and onto sand. She kept walking towards the sounds of the waves, which were much more docile in real life than they had been in her dream.

They curled harmlessly onto the sand, turning to white foam as they reached as far as they could on the shore before receding back into the Pacific. It was comforting, seeing that the ocean was not a raging monster, ready to tear her limb from limb, as her brain had so vividly imagined it in her sleep.

Emma's breath caught when she spotted a figure sitting ten feet away from her. It was dark, and the person had their back to her, but she instinctively knew who it was.

Julian.

 _-Julian-_

The waves were calming, their rhythmic movement and sound a slight comfort. But they weren't enough to stop the throbbing ache. It was crushing him, and he was sure that it would overwhelm him this time.

He was so lonely. So lonely, it physically hurt. He had felt alone before; that was inevitable, given the position he was in. Running an Institute. Raising a family. Being the problem solver, the one everyone looked to when a decision had to be made.

It was a lonely job he had. But it had been bearable. He had been able to endure that, because he had had something to himself. Someone, rather. He had known that he loved her long before she knew, and he had taken pleasure in doing the wrong thing for once, even if that one thing was allowing himself to love the girl he was forbidden to love.

And now, after everything, he was just alone to bear his burdens, to go through days like today when he just wasn't sure if he could keep living that way. He wasn't allowed to be selfish, to be sad, to break down. But there were some days in particular when he couldn't help himself.

He sensed someone behind him and turned around, clutching the small square card in his hand tighter, afraid to let someone see him out here nearly losing his mind.

But it was Emma, and he felt like he could breathe again, even as he hadn't noticed that he was holding his breath.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, holding a sweater closed, but she still was wearing her shorts so that her legs glowed pale in the light coming from her closed hand.

Her long blonde hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, the way she liked it when she slept, and it shone like white gold. She looked small when she wasn't in her gear or wielding Cortana, and he tried to push back the memory of how perfectly they had fit together. As she got closer, he saw that her face was paler than it usually was, and her brown eyes looked tired and worn.

She was still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had tried over and over again to replicate her beauty in art, but it seemed she was so lovely, she could not be captured by such mundane mediums as paper and paint. It didn't stop him from trying, though.

She sat next to him, not saying a word, but studying the ocean as he studied her. Even with everything that had happened, suddenly it all seemed a tiny bit more bearable with her simply sitting next to him.

She was the first to break the silence, "I had a dream last night."

He didn't reply, but kept looking at her.

She had yet to look at him, and continued, "A nightmare, actually."

"About the ocean again?"

"Yes," she finally pulled her gaze away from the water to look at his face, and he was struck by the sadness in her beautiful brown eyes, "But I don't think it was about me this time."

It was common knowledge that _Parabatai_ shared a special bond with each other, particularly in battle, but he had always felt as if the bond between he and Emma had run deeper than what was common. He had a feeling he knew why that was.

He didn't reply. She hadn't asked, because she knew what she said was true. His grief had been so immense, it had spilled over into her as she slept. The sadness he saw in her eyes was his, not her own.

"I forgot her face." His voice cracked slightly.

"Your mother's face."

He nodded, swallowing thickly.

"Today's the anniversary of her death." His heart stung to hear her say the words out loud.

He jumped a little as she slid a hand into his, holding him tight. He squeezed back.

"I knew it would happen; I just thought it would take 20, maybe 30 years before I couldn't remember exactly what she looked like. And then I woke up in the middle of the night and realized that the picture of her in my dream was blurred, like she was disappearing from me, like—" he choked back a sob.

Emma didn't say anything, but she scooted closer to him so there was no space between their sides, tucking his arm under hers while maintaining hold on his hand. He leaned into her. She was still warm while he had been out in the cool air for hours already.

"I just want her back. I want my mom back." He finally broke down, the sobs wracking his body after being held back for so long.

He forgot that he was supposed to be the strong one, and he forgot everything that had happened between him and Emma. He forgot that he was the parent of his family and that he had an entire Conclave secretly in his hands. He was just a boy grieving for his mother, forgetting that everyone needed him to be a man now.

Emma pulled him to her, cradling his head under her chin and soothing him like a child. She ran her fingers through his brown hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her. He felt soothed by her light touch and by the sound of her heart beneath his ear.

He finally let himself feel the full weight of his pain, of his grief. It was awful and torturous, but it had been eating him up inside, and he finally had someone to share in its release. Emma continued to sooth him silently, and he realized how much he yearned for her touch and her affection, how it was like a balm to his broken heart.

Once he regained control of himself and pulled away, he felt empty. The sky was a shade lighter.

He looked over as Emma picked up the picture he had dropped. She brushed the sand off and looked at it, her thumb tracing the edge.

"It was difficult to find," Jules said as he gently took it, tracing his mother's laughing face, "She was always the one taking the pictures, never in them."

When Julian had been looking in the small room that housed what they had kept of his mother's belongings, there had been countless pictures of the kids, of his father, of the ocean, of the Institute, of places and people Julian hadn't even recognized. There had been paintings and drawings ranging from rough sketches to detailed masterpieces. He had stopped to examine a particularly detailed sketch of a laughing baby, a baby he recognized as himself. His mother had written "My Julian" in loopy writing in the bottom left corner, and he had brushed his fingers over her loving words.

But in all the thousands of likenesses he had rummaged through, there were none of Eleanor Blackthorn. Just as he had been about to give up, he found it, buried in a pile of old Conclave records of his father's that they had moved here from his office.

The edges were worn, as if it had been held often. Julian had a feeling his father had kept it with him in his office, and that it was probably the picture he looked at when _he_ was afraid of forgetting her face.

Jules smiled sadly, memorizing the waves of her brown hair, the laugh lines at the corners of her blue eyes, her infectious smile, the contour of her heart-shaped face, and the nose that Julian had inherited. She looked bemused, her hand raised in slight protest towards the camera.

Julian knew that his father had stolen her camera and taken this photo, ignoring her shy protests. He was so glad he had.

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?" Emma commented.

"Yeah, she was."

Somehow, they were holding hands again, the same way they had held hands the day of his mother's funeral. Julian wasn't sure if Emma realized she was doing it, but her thumb was tracing mindless patterns on the back of his hand. It was nice. She was watching the sunrise, which was particularly stunning today. The sky was clear, and the bright orange light was reflecting off of the unusually calm water.

She looked content, and Julian had to resist the urge to trace the lines of her face with his fingers. He turned away, looking out at the sunrise with her.

"It's going to be a beautiful day." She said.

"Yes," he replied, "I think it is."

A/N: My reviewer is a guest, so I cannot reply directly, but I want to thank you here for taking the time to review! I appreciate your kind words and I'm glad you are enjoying the story. If anyone is reading and not reviewing, I hope you are enjoying it, as well! If you have time to review, that would be awesome (even if it's just "I liked it" or "I hated it"). If you're keeping count, there are two more chapters that I have written, but, as the guest reviewer mentioned, I'm sure Mark has a lot to think about this relationship, so I was considering writing a bonus chapter from his POV, if anyone is interested.


	4. The Bad I Do

" _The good I do is good. The bad I do is legendary."_

-Unknown

The air was forced out of Emma's lungs as she hit the training mat, hard. She stayed there for a moment, panting, frustrated, with droplets of sweat beading down her skin.

A slender hand came into her view, offering assistance; after a second, she grasped it, allowing herself to be pulled up.

"Another win for me." Mark said dryly, his teasing smirk making Emma tighten her fists.

If there was anything that got her more fired up than fighting demons, it was training to fight demons. And Mark was beating her at that today. She wasn't sure why she couldn't move as fast, wasn't as agile, and wasn't quite able to hit her mark. All that she could think of was that she was put off by the fact that Jules kept refusing to train with her; there was always something. Important Clave business. Tavvy needed lunch. He had to meet with Diana. He even used grocery shopping as an excuse once to avoid her. It was burning her up.

And Mark's little knowing smirks and innocent comments were just fuel for the fire.

"Maybe it is time to take a break? Perhaps go to the kitchen and see if anyone has made lunch yet?" Mark teased, his eyes dancing.

"Oh, are you already hungry? It's only 10:30, but if you're feeling a little delicate, we can go check."

"Well, you shouldn't be surprised; beating you over and over takes a lot of energy."

Emma twirled the knife in her hand before flinging it hard, allowing it to whistle past Mark's left ear before sticking into the target behind him, just to the left of center.

He laughed, walking over to sling an arm around her shoulders. Emma saw an opportunity. She reached up to lightly trace her fingers aimlessly over the back of his hand, sighing in feigned defeat.

"Now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry, too."

"To the kitchen, then-"

Just as he had relaxed and turned to walk out of the room with her still tucked into his side, she had grasped his forearm with two hands and flipped him over her back to land on the mat, just as breathless as he had left her.

He smiled, gasping, "That was bad, Carstairs."

"Haven't you heard, Blackthorn? The good I do is good and the bad I do is legendary." Emma quoted a bumper sticker she had seen.

He whipped his hand out to swipe at her leg, but she danced out of his reach, a challenging smirk on her face. He rose to his feet, and they began again. Emma took a different approach than she normally did. Instead of going aggressive and using her speed to evade and surprise, she kept dancing further and further out of his lunging reach, hoping to tire him out before going on the attack.

Every hold he tried to put her in, she slithered out as quickly as she could, but did not attempt to restrain him. They grappled like this for several minutes before she saw an opportunity. Mark kept favoring to the right, probably because that sprained ankle he got the previous night was still nagging a bit, despite the all the _iratzes_. Emma knew she was playing dirty, but she couldn't let him win again. Her pride wouldn't allow it.

So the next time he went right, she went to her right, taking out his left leg from behind and leveraging his upper body back to slam heavily into the mat for a second time. He groaned, rolling to his side.

It wasn't even half a second that Emma had let her guard down, but it was enough for Mark to take advantage of it. He tackled her knees, landing heavily on top of her. She let out a small yell of surprise as he did so, then used all her strength to flip him over, adjusting so that she was sitting on his chest.

She leaned down close so that their noses were nearly touching, and whispered, "Another win for me."

"You play dirty, Emma."

"I know, that's why I am the one on top."

"I wasn't complaining. The view from down here is exquisite."

At this, he looked over her sweaty, heaving chest, the clingy white tank top she was wearing, the line of her collar bones, the contour of the muscles in her arms, and down to her hips, clad in the light training pants and currently sitting astride his waist.

Emma blushed uncharacteristically under his mischievous gaze, something that didn't go unnoticed by Mark.

He laughed, pulling her down towards him and flipping her over so that he was leaning over her, his forearms holding most of his weight, his face hovering centimeters from hers.

"I like to be on top, too."

It was too much tension for either of them, and they crashed together passionately, both fighting for dominance, their hot mouths aggressive against each other. After a few seconds, Emma flipped him again, pinning his arms with her knees and pulling his hair. She was in charge. Always.

He had different plans, though. Instead of trying to roll her again, as she expected, he simply sat up, sliding her down so that her legs were around his hips. Emma bit his lip in frustration, tasting coppery blood. He had the weight advantage, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve, too.

She ground her hips into his, eliciting a tortured moan from him. She pressed her chest forward, pinning herself against him, and he broke away, gasping. She reached down, slipping her hand beneath his waistband. His eyes rolled and he fell back to the mat, putty in her hands. She smiled in triumph, sitting astride him and continuing her torture.

"You play very dirty, Emma Carstairs."

"You have no idea." She teased.

She was suddenly aware of the public space they were in, a room that was frequented by many in the house. She pulled away, swinging her leg around until she was sitting next to Mark instead of on him.

"Is this another of your evil tricks?" he asked, breathless, "Get a man to the brink of bliss and then leave him stranded? Because if so, it is the cruelest of all."

Emma's eyes flickered to the door and back before answering, "What if we move this to my room instead?"

Mark laughed with genuine mirth, looking at her red, sheepish face. The faire folk had a much different view of sexuality; there was less shame, and more admiration of the body's form and its desires.

But he obliged easily, to which she was grateful. She rose to her feet and offered him her hand, which he accepted with another smile.

"I say you win for the day, Emma."

Emma smiled, "I'd say so, too."

Just as they made it to the corridor her room was on, Jules came around the corner, and Emma stopped dead.

"Oh, there you are." Jules looked them over, their flushed, sweaty bodies.

"We were just training." Emma explained, embarrassment and shame welling up inside her without her permission.

Mark hid the smallest of smirks, thinking that this was just Emma being shy again about her sexual life.

"Ah, alright then." Jules swallowed, uncomfortable himself. "I just finished up with Diana and the kids, so I was checking to see if you still wanted to train. But I guess you already did."

Emma's heart sank, but she replied quickly, "We only did hand-to-hand, though. Maybe you and I could do some weapons work?"

Julian looked at her for a minute before answering, "Sounds good."

"But first," she turned back the way she came, "Lunch."

She tried to pull Mark's hand after her, but he resisted.

"I, uh, am going to shower up first." He winked at her.

"Meet you down there."

"I wouldn't miss lunch. Training with you certainly drains a man of energy, Emma Carstairs."

A/N: Thank you, once again, to my wonderful reader! As I said before, I'm glad someone is enjoying the story, as I have had a lot of fun writing it :)


	5. My Reason For Life

" _You are my dearest one. My reason for life."_

-Ian McEwan

The world was alive. The air was dancing, the edges of everything around her blurred. She could see the sounds swimming around: a deep timbre, a musical melody, and the most beautiful sound she had ever seen in her life. Her body was both hot and cold; one side felt frigid cold while the other was as warm as a summer day in Los Angeles.

Emma was flying. She could feel herself floating, as if weightless, through the night. The air tasted like a familiar scent, copper and warmth and salt, and it coated the inside of her mouth, bubbling through her lips the way air normally should not. She almost smiled.

She wasn't flying anymore. Her body was only cold now, and she missed the warmth. She was engulfed in a cloud, its solid substance supporting her. Her vision was then overtaken by a most welcome sight.

Julian.

His face was obscured by a haze, but she would recognize him anywhere. The sharp angle of his jawline, the chocolate curls, the defined cheek bones, and, of course, the eyes that were the colors of the sea.

Yes, she would know him anywhere. A sudden surge of love and possessiveness swelled inside of Emma and she reached for him, wanting to tether him to herself forever. She would always remember what he felt like, what he tasted like, what it had been like to cradle him to herself, to fully possess him, to feel him inside of her.

She spoke around the bubbling air in her mouth that tasted like a familiar smell, "Julian, my Julian."

He replied, but she could not understand his words, and she felt someone take her hand and pull it away from his face.

The world was growing colder, and there was blackness encroaching on her vision.

"I love you," she meant to say, but she wasn't sure if her words had beaten the darkness that swallowed her consciousness.

 _5 Hours Earlier_

Emma ran her finger carefully down the edge of Cortana, as if caressing the newly-sharpened blade. It was flawless, like it had just been forged rather than seen thousands of battles and dispatched countless demons. She took in a sigh as she sheathed her prized weapon, hanging it carefully.

She picked up the box of discarded weaponry from the corner, carrying it over to dump onto the wide table in the middle of the weapons room, planning to sort through any pieces that may be salvaged or sent back to the Clave.

Diana had set her this task, which Emma had not taken quietly.

"Your erratic behavior and reckless actions might be calmed by a few hours of quiet work, Emma. Put those hands to use." Had been Diana's exact words.

Sure, she had been taking a few more risks, throwing herself into battle with unmatched fierceness. But what she couldn't understand was why that was a _bad_ thing. She had looked incredulously to Julian when their tutor had dismissed her, hoping that he would step in on her behalf, but he had just looked back at her with a grim look; he was obviously in agreement with Diana.

Emma had left the room huffing, and now she was trapped inside for the evening sorting through mangled weapons and polishing throwing stars. She picked up a shuriken, using her fingertip to assess the chipped point.

"Agh!" she exclaimed, examining her bloody finger with frustration. Maybe they were right, she thought to herself angrily; maybe she was too careless now.

She searched around the room for something to stem the bleeding, walking over to the corner where some spare gear hung. Just as she was reaching for a clean polishing rag, she jumped, startled at the sight of a pale blond head in the corner.

"Mark?"

He looked up at her with sorrow, his arms resting on his bent knees, his hands clenched into fists.

"Emma?" he replied in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

She jabbed her thumb behind her to indicate the forgotten box she had been sorting, "Um…Diana sent me here to do some busy work. What are you doing here? In the corner, of all places."

"I wanted a place to think, a place…" he trailed off, his eyes not meeting hers.

"You didn't want to be found." She finished for him.

His eyes landed on her still-bleeding hand, "You're hurt."

She looked at it distractedly, "It's nothing. Stupid, that's all. I wasn't being careful."

"No, you're bleeding." He stood, and she saw something small and hard drop out of his hand as he did so, something that looked oddly like an acorn.

Mark took the cloth that Emma had come here for, tearing it neatly in half before tying one of the pieces in a tight knot around her finger.

She grabbed his hand before he could pull it away, squeezing it gently in her own. He finally raised his eyes to meet hers, the sorrow of her own broken heart reflected there. He did not know how much she could feel his pain, did not know that she ached with him. She was surprised by how sad that made her that she could not share with him, tell him that he was not alone.

He pulled her to him, embracing her tightly to his body. He was tall, his frame broad and strong now that he had been eating properly for some time. She was pressed up against his chest, feeling small in his arms, his heartbeat strong in her ear. She relaxed, tension that she hadn't realized she carried melting at his affection.

She let her hands reach around to his back, the muscles there rippling under her touch. They stood there for a moment in each other's arms before Mark pulled back and looked at her again. There was nothing teasing in his eyes, nothing of that chaos-loving Faerie that she knew was a part of him. It was just a very human pain.

Before she knew it, she was kissing him. It took him half a second to respond, but when he did, he did so fiercely. His hands came up to knot tightly in her hair, pulling her closer to him as if he wanted to devour her. She matched his earnestness, tasting his sweetness, clasping his fine-boned face between her hands.

He twisted around so that her back was against the wall, pressing her there chest to chest. She matched her breathing with his, moving her hands to lift his shirt. He took it off for her, almost impatiently, throwing it aside without a thought. Emma, too, stripped off her shirt, letting it drop on top of his. She let her hands roam his chest, tracing the outline of his muscles, following the path of the familiar thin scars that marked every experienced shadowhunter. He had moved his lips to her neck, kissing and nipping at the tender flesh there so that her heart pounded hard against her chest. She sighed heavily as he moved lower, placing kisses on the tops of her breasts, in the space between them, and his hot breath tickled her skin as his mouth traced the edge of her bra.

It was as if his kisses and his touch were stoking low-burning embers in the lowest pit of her body, which were slowly growing into flames, licking her insides. She had to swallow a gasp as her hands had wandered around to his back, touching lightly the warped scars that the fey had placed there, a mocking of their sacred angelic language that Mark had refused to renounce. They were lines that declared his loyalty to the Nephilim, in a twisted way.

He responded by touching her own scars, ridges of raised skin, a reminder that her back had served as a shield for Mark and Julian, a reminder of her undying devotion. His hands unclasped her bra, his eyes raising to look questioningly at her. She didn't answer verbally, but slid the straps down her arms and let it join their shirts on the ground. He caressed her bare breasts as his mouth continued its trail down the front of her body, her own hands tangled in his soft, fine hair.

Her stomach tightened as he licked the crevices of her defined abdomen; her eyes closed as he kissed her toned belly. She felt the loss of his touch as he moved to unbutton her jeans, her core contracting as his touch tickled the skin above her waistband.

Suddenly, she was standing there naked in the corner of the weapons room, Mark on his knees in front of her. Her head pressed against the hard wall behind her as he kissed the apex of her thighs, and she tasted blood as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making too much noise.

She pulled him to stand and turned him so that _he_ was pressed into the corner, her hands making fast work of his pants. He was not as discreet about his groans as her hand closed around him. She continued her ministrations, taking pleasure in watching him nearly unravel right there under her touch.

Right when she thought he would lose control, he grabbed her wrists firmly, twisting them around again so that she was back against the wall. It was like a dance, she realized, them both fighting to lead and enjoying every second. She would not expect sex with a half faerie to be any different.

He took hold of the top of her thighs and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Using the wall as leverage, she wrapped her legs around his naked, narrow hips. He locked eyes with her once more, a look of desire and questioning. She nodded, resting her arms atop his shoulders.

Her back arched, her shoulder blades pressing into the wall as he buried himself in her. He obviously saw this as the perfect opportunity to lower his mouth to her chest, and she couldn't trap the moans in her mouth anymore. He smiled against her skin, as if hearing her pleasure counted as a victory.

His pace was agonizingly slow, like he was teasing her. She pressed her hips forward impatiently, squeezing her legs to try and pull him closer. He chuckled, but did nothing to satisfy her demands. She leaned forward and sucked at his neck, kissed along his collar bone, then bit the prominent point on top of his shoulder. He let out a low moan, appeasing her by pressing into her deeper, faster.

She felt the tightening in her belly increase, as if her body was doing everything it could to keep its hold on him. He took her wrists and pinned them above her head, going faster as both their breathing increased to panting.

Emma felt the dam burst, the tightening giving way to an intense wave of pleasure. Mark was not far behind, needing only a few more thrusts before they both collapsed clumsily to the floor, a tangle of weak limbs.

They stayed there, tucked into the back corner of the weapons room, their sweaty skin sticking to the hard, cool floor. As clarity began to replace her daze, Emma realized what they had done.

But it hadn't been for a lie, it hadn't been a teasing joke, a convenient pleasure, or a drunken disaster; it had been one secretly broken heart comforting another. It had been one person in private romantic devastation recognizing the hopeless pain of her dear friend and trying to fix that. Because, despite the fact that Mark and Emma had come together in the most physically intimate way, she knew both of them were yearning for another.

This realization was followed by a flood of guilt. She surveyed the still-empty room, hoping that the isolation had protected their private roll in the hay. Or roll in the gear, she joked wryly to herself, as she glanced at the neatly hung garments above them. While the guilt was still there, she shoved any thought of Julian to the back of her mind. She didn't think she would be able to keep from breaking under despair if she let herself think of him right now.

She, instead, focused on Mark, whose head was currently resting on her stomach. She could feel warm drops falling onto her skin, and her hands caressed his hair, fine threads of silk soft in her fingers. Emma knew that half of Mark, the half that he constantly had to deny and hide from the Clave, still lived in the skies. She knew that part of Mark still yearned for another at times, bringing him to try and hide his sorrow in a deserted corner of the Institute.

She knew how he felt; having to deny a vital part of yourself, a part of you that was woven into your soul, was a pain different from any other. Especially when it tore you away from a love.

So they stayed like that for a while, their naked bodies tired, sweaty, and entwined, one of them crying his sorrow into the open, the other burying hers deeper, because no one could know that she was even broken.

 _-Julian-_

Julian sighed in frustration, turning away from Mark's empty room. He had a habit of disappearing sometimes, and Julian wondered at the fact that those times always seemed to be when he needed him.

But he knew where Emma would be, so he headed for the weapons room, looking out the windows at the brilliance of the sunset on the water. His hands itched to paint the view, to capture this moment of beauty that would be gone within the hour. There was nothing like painting the way the sunlight exploded into a thousand glittering pieces on the Pacific, or the way the sky blended seamlessly from orange to red to purple.

But not tonight. Tonight, there was a task to be completed, a suspected nest of Raum demons downtown that needed to be dealt with. This was usually something he would summon members from the Conclave for, but between the group that he had sent to Idris for a routine consult with the Counsel and the recent uptick in demonic activity in the LA area, they would have to manage this one.

He hesitated for a moment, steeling himself to see her. It pained him that he had to do this now, that he had not only lost Emma as a lover, but lost a part of his friendship with her. He pushed open the door, and his heart sank even further at what he found.

Emma was standing at the table, a pile of discarded weapon pieces to her left, and a pile that she presumably planned to send back for repairs to her right. But she wasn't alone. Mark stood on the opposite side of the table, polishing and arranging the runed bolts that Julian used in his crossbow. In the half second before they realized he was there, he saw them laughing. Emma was relaxed, her smile genuine as she teased Mark, and Mark was hiding his own smile, but his eyes were dancing with mirth.

Julian couldn't remember the last time he had seen Emma like that, and it made his heart ache that much more. It was worse than seeing them hold hands and smile and flirt in front of everyone else, as that had always had a sheen of falseness to it. This wasn't a show they were putting on, this wasn't a game they were playing. There was something real between them in that half second, and Julian hated himself for feeling like he was going to fall apart at the sight.

Emma looked up, the smile falling from her face. An expression of alarm flashed across her features before she looked down and away from him, almost guiltily.

Julian didn't look at either of them as he strode over to collect his gear, saying "Gear up. We've got some Raums to deal with."

"Just the three of us, brother?" Mark fell into step next to him.

"I texted Cristina, she's on her way back right now, so we'll wait for her. Diana agreed to meet us there."

Mark nodded, grabbing Emma's gear and tossing it to her, as she was still standing at the table, unmoving. She caught it, turning to the small changing room without a word. Once they were all dressed and armed, they headed down to the car, Julian striding purposefully ahead of both of them.

"Are you sure this is the location that was given?" Diana kicked a dumpster so it rolled to the side in the dark alley, a runed daab held at the ready in her right hand, a witchlight in the other. She didn't often come hunting with them, only when they were in a pinch.

"Yes," Julian's eyebrows were low over his eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the area around them. Grimy walls of the backsides of empty warehouses and workshops, dumpsters, and cracked asphalt.

There was a sudden clatter at one end of the alley, and Julian whipped around to see two of the scaly, tentacled monsters they had come in search for hurrying towards them. He felt the warrior in him rise to the surface, crowding out everything else.

He could feel more than see that Emma was about twelve paces behind him, facing the other end of the alley where there were more demons, judging by the sounds.

Diana and Cristina engaged with the first two, Diana swinging the daab down to slice off one of the writhing tentacles, then spinning around with both hands on the handle of her weapon, slicing off the head. Julian loaded his crossbow, nailing a third Raum that had followed behind squarely in its black, pupil-less eye. It hissed as ichor splattered onto the wall, then dissolved into nothingness.

He continued to shoot in that direction as more continued to flood into the narrow alley, methodically dispatching one after the other, sometimes multiple at a time. All the while, he could hear Cortana slicing and dicing in Emma's expert hands behind him; every so often she huffed from exertion.

Mark was behind him as well, the light of his seraph blade in the corner of Julian's eye. There were more, and as Julian reached back for another bolt, he realized that there were just two remaining. With a grunt of frustration, he loaded his last two, and made them count. He took out his knives, flinging those with deadly accuracy, as well.

"There's too many!" he heard Diana yell from across the alley. She and Cristina were back to back, both fighting off three at a time, dodging their sharp-toothed suckers.

Julian realized she was right, they would have to retreat. If he weren't so zoned into the fight, he would be berating himself for thinking they could handle a report of such a large contingent. He whipped a knife forward, taking out one of the demons Cristina had been struggling with.

"Em," he said. He didn't have to say anything else as he turned and caught the seraph blade she tossed to him.

"Eremiel," Julian muttered, and the seraph blade lit up with life.

They continued fighting, and before Julian knew it, he was next to Emma. They were drawn to each other in battle, working in perfect harmony, and it suddenly seemed manageable. Just as Julian was about to finish off a Raum, he heard Mark yell out in pain. Turning, he saw his brother in a heap on the ground.

It was barely a second, but it was enough time for the demon Julian had been about to kill to grab him around the middle with a tentacle, throwing him hard to the ichor-soaked asphalt. His breath left him in a huff, and he felt a sting in his side.

"No!" Emma cried, and the metallic gleam of Cortana flashed across Julian's vision. The vice-like grip about his middle disappeared as the Raum demon retreated back to where it had come from.

"Emma, let it go! We need to get back to the Institute." Diana's voice was stern, but ignored.

"Like hell!"

"Emma!" Julian yelled as she took off after the demon alone. His side ached, and he placed a hand over the wound that was oozing blood. He could still hear Diana and Cristina fighting off the remainder of the infestation.

The only thought in Julian's mind was Emma. He rolled to his side, grunting in pain. He struggled to his feet, grabbed his weapon, and hurried down the alley as quickly as he could manage. His footsteps sounded wet as he rounded the corner onto the deserted street.

His heart sank at the sight. The clever Raum had led Emma straight into two others. He mustered up all his strength and moved forward, watching as she spun and sliced and dove, a master at fighting.

But she was overmatched. Just as she finished off one, the other grabbed her from behind, sinking several mouthfuls of spiky, jagged teeth into her left side.

She screamed in pain, and Julian felt his _parabatai_ rune pulse in alarm. It pierced him to the core, driving him forward to save her.

He sliced off the head of the one holding Emma before it even realized he was there, and she dropped in a silent heap at his feet. He turned as the last one lunged at him, slicing at tentacles, his main concern protecting Emma and staying upright, even though his side ached more with each passing moment.

There was a high whistle by his left ear and he watched as a butterfly knife sank into the head of the last Raum. He turned and saw Cristina hurrying towards them.

Without hesitation, Julian dropped to Emma's side, turning her so she was on her back. He was almost sick with fear at the sight. Her eyes were half closed, her face pale. The left side of her gear was shredded, a large wound there spilling blood freely.

"Julian," Cristina dropped at his side, "Julian, you need an _iratze_."

"No, Emma, we need to help Emma." He put both hands at the wound, a futile attempt to stop the gush.

"You can't help her if you pass out yourself. She needs more than runes, but I have to help you first." Her voice was steady, calm, but there was a small shake behind her façade.

Julian refused to remove his hands, but Cristina tore at his gear anyway. He didn't even feel the familiar sting of the stele. His mind was consumed by the girl dying in front of him.

 _Emma, Emma, Emma._

Her name was sounding like a drum in his head, in time with his bounding heart.

"Get her up, we have to get her to the Institute." Diana had joined, them, a horror-stricken, but healed, Mark behind her.

Julian scooped Emma into his arms, her body seeming smaller than usual in this state of near-death.

 _No_ , he scolded himself, _She's not going to die. She can't die. I won't let her die._

He barely heard Diana instructing Cristina to summon the Silent Brothers on the way as they piled into the car, Julian cradling Emma in the back seat, Cristina sliding in next to them, her stele out.

"Here, let me." Julian reached for it, remembering how Emma had saved him from his own poisonous wound.

"It's no use, the poison has already spread too much." Diana said as the car screeched onto the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic. "Runes cannot help her right now. Her only hope is the Silent Brothers."

Julian saw what Diana had seen then, the thin black streaks spreading from the site through her body.

"Dios," Cristina was whispering a prayer, her hands joining Julian's at Emma's bloody side.

He didn't know how long the car ride was, all he knew was that as soon as the car screeched to a stop, he flung the door open and was flying up the steps of the Institute, Emma in his arms.

The door flew open without him needing to touch it, the bright light of the entryway greeting them.

"You guys are back alread-" Livvy's greeting broke off in a shriek at the sight of Emma. There was a loud commotion as the other children crowded in the large entryway and the remainder of the hunting party rushed in after Julian, who was now halfway up the stairs.

He looked down to see Emma's eyes open, glazed over. Blood was bubbling out of her mouth, dripping from the corners of her lips. He could hear her shallow breathing.

"Emma," he said, "Emma, look at me."

But she did not hear him, or couldn't do as he asked. Her body felt cold in his arms and he held her tighter to his body, willing her to live.

"Emma, you can't die. You can't. If you die, I die." He spoke with desperation, his voice breaking on the words, his mind wild.

He set her down on the white covers of one of the medical wing's beds, turning to search for help.

"The Silent Brothers…" he said as Diana entered, her eyes wide with alarm.

 _We are here._

A hooded figure ghosted in, moving Julian aside as another similar figure joined him. But Julian just went around to Emma's other side, leaning over her. Her gaze landed on his face finally, and a light came into them that he had only seen when it had just been them alone, when they had been sneaking around the rules of forbidden love. It felt like forever ago.

"Julian," her voice was weak and low, "My Julian…"

Her hand came up and rested on his cheek. Julian's lower lip trembled with emotion, and he leaned into her touch. Just as he was about to press her hand against his face with his own, one of the Silent Brothers pulled her cold hand away.

 _Julian Blackthorn, you must leave. We will do everything we can to save your_ parabatai.

But he wouldn't move, couldn't move. Emma took in a rattling breath as if to say something, before her head lolled back with unconsciousness. Then strong, familiar hands were on his shoulders, steering him away from Emma, from his _parabatai_.

Mark continued to direct him out of the room, Diana following and closing the door behind her.

The numbness of battle and the desperate adrenaline as he had held Emma in his arms both ebbed away, and Julian crumpled to the ground with his head in his hands and wept in his brother's arms.

 _-Emma-_

She felt trapped.

Something powerful, more powerful than physical restraints, was pinning her limbs down, keeping her eyes shut. Her whole body ached, but it felt as if something was keeping her pain at bay, too.

Emma tried to move her hand, to twitch her finger, and grew frustrated when her body refused to obey. She stayed like that for what felt like eternity, but it must have only been a few minutes.

Slowly, she felt herself gaining control again, as if a heavy weight that had been keeping her paralyzed was being gradually lifted. She licked her lips, her mouth feeling sticky and dry. Her eyelids raised halfway before she snapped them shut, the low sunlight streaming in through the window assaulting her vision.

She tried again, this time squinting around the room. She realized immediately that she was in the medical wing, neat rows of white beds extending down the long room. It looked to be late afternoon, as yellow sunlight flooded in through the massive west-facing windows.

There was a figure in the seat next to her, but her heart sank when she saw who it was, or, rather, who it wasn't.

Mark was sitting in the pool of sunshine, which illuminated his blond head, tipped forward to rest on his chest. His chest was rising in even breaths, indicating that he was asleep. A flood of memories hit Emma like the ocean's unforgiving waves, each one crashing onto her as if a dam had burst in her brain.

Mark in the weapons room, their panting, sweaty bodies pressed against each other as she tasted his sweet skin and his fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs; polishing Cortana and sorting through weapons as she and Mark joked back and forth, ignoring how odd it was that their friendship had found a new depth to it after their passionate encounter; the thrill of the fight, the rush of adrenaline in that dark alley; a returned vigor that she hadn't experienced in battle in a while, and realizing it was because she and Julian were fighting together, as seamlessly and efficiently as they had before.

Julian.

She remembered him falling, and the red anger that had jolted her into irrational action. She saw through a blur the memory of Julian's face, wild with fear, the feeling that she was flying, the taste of blood in her mouth, the indescribable pain as demon poison tried to choke the life out of her body.

She let out a moan as the ache of her body pulsed, as if it were being reminded by her memories that she should be hurting more.

Mark started at the sound, reaching for her automatically.

"Emma?"

"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice scratchy.

"Nearly three days. The Silent Brothers just left this morning." He scanned her body with his eyes, as if waiting for her to burst into flames or something, "They weren't sure if you were going to make it."

Emma swallowed thickly, looking around for water. As if reading her mind, Mark poured her some out of a crystal pitcher on the side table. He held her head up gently and helped her drink.

She felt so pathetic and weak as she realized that she needed help to hold up her own head. But the water tasted incredible, so she let him help her drink one more glass.

"Julian…he was hurt." Emma trailed off, hoping Mark would hear the question.

A strange look came across Mark's face, but he answered, "Julian is fine. Well, he's made himself fairly sick with worry. But he is fine."

Emma nodded, restraining herself from asking to see him. But again, Mark seemed to be able to read her thoughts.

"Octavian has been having nightmares again. And Livia has not been eating much these past few days. Julian seems to be the only one that can help them. Ty tries with Livvy, but he is quite anxious himself."

 _Of course,_ Emma thought, _probably the only thing that would keep Julian from being here would be that his family was in need of him._

Her hand went to her side, as that seemed to be where the pain was concentrated, but it did nothing to help.

"The Silent Brothers had to use nearly everything at their disposal to keep you from dying. You are covered with some pretty strong runes, which will sap your strength. They said to warn you that as the painless runes begin to fade, the pain will increase."

Emma nodded. She was no stranger to pain. She could handle it. She could handle anything.

"Emma," she finally looked at Mark, who almost had a pleading look in his eyes, "Why do you put yourself in the path of such danger?"

She looked away again, "We were sent there to get rid of the Raum demons. I was just doing my job."

He was silent, as if letting the falsity of her own words make his argument for him. It worked.

"I know why you asked me to lie."

She snapped her head over to look at him now, alarmed. "What?" she asked, though she had heard him perfectly.

His face was blank, but he couldn't keep the sadness out of his eyes, "It must be terrible, to suffer so in silence."

She swallowed, unwilling to admit to anything. Her breathing had become more rapid, sending sharp pains throughout her chest and abdomen.

Mark stood, "We shall keep lying, Emma, if that is what you think will save you and my brother. But it will have to remain a lie from now on."

She heard what he was saying. No more sexy time in the weapons room or teasing each other at night when no one was around. It was out of loyalty to Julian, she was sure, and suddenly she felt guilty for making Mark unknowingly betray his brother. But she would do it again, if it meant saving Jules.

"I will get him." There was no need to explain who he was getting.

Emma laid there in the few silent moments she had alone. The sunlight was fading to orange, the room about her dimming. The high, pitched ceiling was dark and bare, the walls mostly made up of large windows overlooking the ocean. She had spent quite a bit of time here, getting patched up, but she doubted she had ever come as close to death as she just had.

Julian did not enter quietly, his haste evident in his heavy breathing and rapid steps. He was at her side within seconds, scooping up one of her hands in both of his.

"Emma. Emma, you're awake."

She felt complete with him there by her side, as if a piece of her had been missing until she heard his steady voice and saw the familiar lines of his face.

"Are we just going to state the obvious or…" She had found that snark was a good deflection for any deeper feelings when dealing with Julian.

But he didn't even acknowledge her sass, and continued to study her face as if trying to memorize every freckle, every contour. Which, judging by his private art collection, he already had.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ , do that to me again. Do you understand?" he had never spoken so gravely to her, his voice low and bordering on angry.

She simply nodded, his seriousness and the undeniable physical weakness she was feeling reminding her that she had crossed the line from reckless to incredibly freaking stupid. He looked surprised for a moment that she didn't protest, but then nodded grimly, as if affirming the matter.

"Tavvy, Livvy…Mark said that-"

"They're both fine." Julian hesitated, as if to say something else, then decided against it.

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

"No," Julian shook his head, "They were just worried about you, that's all."

Emma looked at where her hand was clasped tightly in his, and realized how much she had missed him. His familiar touch, his presence, his chastisements as she threw herself around the training room, his exasperated smiles as they watched the kids together, knowing what his every move would be when they fought together. She missed her _parabatai_ , her best friend.

"I miss you." She said without thinking, then watched him carefully for his reaction.

"I know. Me, too." He placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand, "I love you, Emma." The words rang true, but he did not say them romantically, just as the kiss had been like the ones he had placed on top of Dru's head when she was upset.

There was still mourning in both of them, a mourning for something that could have been, that almost was. Emma tightened her fingers around Julian's, both of them deciding that that sadness was not worth giving up what they _could_ have with each other. That their bond required them to have.

They stayed there in silence, hands clasped, the room growing dimmer and dimmer. Maybe one day they would be able to be with each other in all the ways they felt meant to be, but until then, they would be the best damn _parabatai_ the shadow world had ever seen.

Their moments of peace came to an end as a tired-looking Cristina could no longer keep the rest of the Blackthorn siblings out of the room. They all poured in, varying looks of anxiety and concern coloring their faces. Dru was just staring at her as if ready to burst into tears; Livvy was rambling on about all the research she and Ty had been doing on Raum venom; Ty had sat on the end of her bed and let his arm rest against her leg; Tavvy had leapt onto the bed, eliciting an _ooph_ from Emma as he jarred her tender body; and Mark stood back, his arms crossed, his eyes on Julian and Emma's still-clasped hands.

Emma looked at Cristina, smiling apologetically. As if unable to contain herself any longer, Cristina burst into a Spanish tirade, presumably berating her for her foolishness, before huffing into silence.

Almost everything was as it should be.

A/N: So this was the original conclusion to the story, but I am going to add a bonus chapter from Mark's perspective. The only thing is, unlike the other chapters were before I posted, this one is not written yet, so it may be a bit longer before I am able to add that one.

I hope whoever has read it has liked it! To my guest reviewer, thank you so much for your kind words, once again! I don't think you know how wonderful it is to hear what people think, and I am so glad you've enjoyed the story. I know that this probably did not end with as much closure as you may have liked, but I don't know how Clare is going to write the story out of this particular tangle of love-related issues, so I'm going to leave that to her :)


	6. Bonus: Mark

A/N: Sorry for the delay, but here is the bonus chapter from Mark's perspective. Switching from Emma's voice to Mark's is quite the change :) Also, it may seem a bit choppy, since I have it jumping from different parts of the story for length's sake, but I hope you enjoy.

Thank you to all who reviewed! It makes my day to hear what you all think.

…

Many things had changed, Mark found. Returning to the Institute was like that split second after waking from a long, enchanting dream and the confusion of trying to determine what was truly real: the world in which you woke, the one you knew you belonged in, or the dream of vivid colors and stars and the impossible.

This place, his home, had developed a distinct air of _different_. His brothers and sisters grown; the rooms altered slightly, but just enough to show that much time had passed; and Julian was no longer a child, but their father figure, authoritative, a battle-hardened Shadowhunter.

Emma had not escaped the hands of time, either. All his years in faerie, the image of Emma had been frozen as the last time he had seen her: shorter, round-faced with youth, twin yellow braids, and the openness and joy that one only had in the innocence of childhood. She had been a lovely little girl, like a little pink flower that faeries liked to pluck from fields.

Now, she was much like the blade she carried into battle, devastatingly beautiful and sharpened into a weapon of destruction, sunlight glinting off her edges and her golden hair, turning her radiant and terrible at the same time. The years had carved wide cheekbones out of her childish round face, pointing her chin. Her hair hung low to her waist, on the rare occasion she let it out. Her body had elongated and morphed into that of a woman's, and a lovely woman at that. She had a warrior's body, all lean muscle and patchwork scars, shapely and strong.

He had noticed how much she had changed the first time his eyes had lighted on her, and even when he thought it all to be a terrible trick, the faerie in him had reveled in her beauty. Surely she would have been praised and cherished and fought over in the faerie lands, had it not been a time of strife and enmity.

But, unlike many full-blooded humans, Mark had been able to objectively assess her loveliness, and been satisfied to simply look upon her without having a taste for himself. Appreciation of one's physical beauty was not so exclusively tied to desires of the flesh and the heart in faerie as they were in the human realms.

So when she had asked to speak with him, he had had no presumptions, but knew that it was a serious matter. For one thing that had not changed in Emma Carstairs was the steel in her eyes, reflecting from deep within her soul. Looking at your reflection in her eyes was like looking at your reflection in a weapon's polished blade.

She had asked such a peculiar favor of him, one he certainly had not expected. But when she did, she opened up a door of other possibilities, one that the wild still living inside him desired very much to travel through.

So he allowed himself to ask the question, "Why lie?"

He had no intentions to meld his heart to hers, but that did not mean they could not meld their bodies. She was as beautiful as the rays of sun that used to burst around him as he rode through the sky. And he was aware that his appearance was generally appreciated by others. It was a practical arrangement, one that both of them could enjoy, if she so wished.

He could see her hesitation, and so he waited for her to come to him. She looked at him, those brown eyes, reflecting pools of her warrior's heart. So lovely, with more than a touch of wild. She would have ripped the skies apart in the Hunt, unleashing all that she had to contain within her soul while here on mortal land.

She was warm, both soft and strong. She tasted like a spring he had drank from once, a spring never touched by human hands, so clear and sweet that you never wanted to stop. He moved his hands over her skin, reading the stories of the battles from her scars like a blind man. She carried many battles with her on her skin, he found, and had taken many runes into the fight with her, as well. He let his hands wander into her hair, the soft tresses falling like threads of silk through his fingers.

She became more earnest, touching him, and where her hands touched his bare skin, he felt his muscles ripple in response. It had been so long since he had felt the soft caresses of a woman's small hands, even if Emma's were calloused and strong enough to wield a longsword. He pulled her closer, kissed her deeper, kissed the patches of soft skin he knew were most sensitive, and was pleased to feel her response.

He felt the human in him, reminding him that this was _Emma_ , Julian's Emma, the little girl that used to run about the Institute, the little girl whose stance and swing he had corrected once.

But she was no longer a little girl. He drew back to look at her, to take a breath.

Mark grinned, and she looked dazed, pleased. She raised her eyes to meet his, and everything changed. She stiffened, the rosy blush draining from her face, which looked stricken.

She looked down, a hand over her heart and the other on the side of his face, as if she were in pain. He gave her a moment, letting the strangeness of it all settle in his mind.

Mark turned to kiss her palm, holding her hand there for a second.

When he told her that they would be liars for at least that night, she kissed him again. But it was different, a thank you, of sorts. He disentangled himself from her, afraid that he might be adding to her pain, though he did not know the source.

When her door had clicked shut, Mark leaned against the wall and sighed. He did not know what was going on, but he figured perhaps he did not want to know. He touched his lips, which were still tingling and raw.

Emma Carstairs was as lovely as the sun, as powerful, as radiant, as bright. But he remembered the story of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun and met his demise. Mark knew what it was like to feel its warmth, to bathe in its hot rays, to soar through its glow and let it pierce your soul.

And he knew it was worth risking the burn.

…

Emma Carstairs had many weapons, and used each as expertly as the next.

Their peculiar dance continued, and Mark took as much pleasure in trying to piece together the mystery as he did in their teasing flirtation.

Around others, she was bright and dominant, using wit for a weapon nearly as much as she did Cortana. And her tongue was as sharp as the edge of her blade.

Around Cristina she was open and trusting, and he noticed her eyes were hesitant at times around the lovely visitor, as if seeking approval she was unaware she was seeking.

With him, she was mischievous and teasing, and he knew that she connected to the wildness that still lingered about him. She was confident, knowing the effect she could have on men and unashamedly using it as brazenly as she swung a seraph blade when they were together.

With Julian, however, she was unexplainable. He could not understand the odd looks, the shared expressions, the way they moved together, an action and reaction, as subtle as the waves of the ocean moving in harmony without them even realizing it was happening. He did not dwell on his lack of understanding, for he presumed it was because he did not have a _parabatai_ himself. They seemed rigid lately, more distant than they had been before, but everyone was under a higher level of stress as it was. Besides, he did not like to watch them too closely, as it felt like he was looking at something private and intimate, something he was not a part of.

His favorite time to watch her, however, was when she was fighting. They had had the chance to go on small, local missions, and it was breathtaking to watch Emma Carstairs in a battle. She spun and kicked, flipped and leaped, ran and jumped like no one he had seen before. The way she twirled daggers in her fingers, how her face was illuminated in the brilliant light of a seraph blade, how the steel in her eyes seemed a weapon unto itself when she fought. Even Gwyn would find beauty in her artful attack.

But there was no comparison to when she used Cortana, which was nearly always. It was like watching two rays of sunshine take their heated vengeance out on the world, laying waste to all that stood in her way.

They came close several times to the culmination of their little dances, but there was always something that spoiled the fun.

Emma's heartbreak over an unknown source.

The gleam of faerie liquor in Emma's glazed eyes.

The other occupants of the Institute asking for their time.

But, if Mark was being honest, there was something within his own heart that ached at times, even as he smiled and traded caresses. Even as he tasted Emma like sweet spring water, felt her body pressed hotly against his, so different from the body that he was reminded of in their heated moments.

One of those times brought him to a deserted corner, hiding amongst shadowhunter weapons of iron and adamas, not wanting his brothers and sisters to see him as any weaker than they probably already thought him to be. He clutched an acorn in his hand, its message still folded inside. He had read it enough that he no longer needed to see the words, but he still clung to the little acorn, a token of the dream he had woken from.

He was so tightly closing himself to the world that he did not notice her presence until she was right before him, her sweet lips parted in surprise.

"Mark?" her voice dragged him back out of the stars and wind, back down to the stale air of stone houses and complicated human relationships.

They spoke, exchanging explanations, and then drops of blood on her finger caught his attention.

"You're hurt." He clung to the prospect of something to do, a problem he could fix, even if it was simply bandaging a small wound. He ignored her protests and carefully bound her finger. Before he could pull away, she caught his hand.

Mark knew he could not hide his pain anymore, knew it was reflected out of his eyes. She looked strangely back, as if she could feel what he was feeling.

He pulled her to his chest, not realizing how much he had grown to rely on Emma and her comfort.

That was where he had intended to let it end, but in the next moment, her mouth was on his, and he wanted more. More of her, more of her sweet taste, more of her steel, more of her touches. He wanted her beams of sunshine to pierce through him and burn away his sorrow, even if it left him scorched and hollow in the wake.

They were stripping away clothing impatiently, and Mark felt her breasts press into his chest, heaving with her breath against him, and he knew she could feel how much he desired her, needed her. He kissed her body with a savage fierceness, the skin of her neck, her chest, the swell of her breasts, and the valley between them.

Her fingers grazed over his scars and he felt hers, and it was as if they were the only two people that knew each other, that felt each other, that were real to each other in that moment. Soon, she was bare to him from the waist up, and his breath hitched and his want for her grew painful. But it was a pleasurable pain, unlike the pain he was so used to.

Mark let his tongue dip and lick into the planes of her body, and she tasted sweeter still. He was on his knees in front of her, worshiping her, his eyes rolling back as her soft sighs and moans reached his ears.

He wanted to see all of her, taste all of her, and so he did. Her body jerked and trembled as he parted her thighs with his tongue, and found again that she tasted sweeter still.

Suddenly, she had pulled him upright and spun him around, descending upon him with her own secrets of pleasure. As her hand closed around him, Mark knew that he would have promised her anything, given her any pledge, if only she would never deprive him of her touch.

And then it became a dance, as it always did between them. Teeth clashed and bit, hands caressed, and moans grew louder. Mark took hold of her wrists and spun her around, lifting her up as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

He looked to her for permission and knew it would be his death if she said no. As soon as she nodded, he plunged into her, and his stomach contracted and he lolled his head forward.

She was arched beneath him, and she looked every bit the half angel she was, perfect and beautiful and unearthly. He lowered his mouth onto her chest, moving ever so slowly inside her.

She moaned and he smiled, knowing that this was his work, the undoing of Emma Carstairs. She grew impatient, and it took all of his self-control not to obey her commands. He chuckled, a low, tortured chuckle as he maintained his slow pace, enjoying watching as she writhed against the wall, her eyes shut tight, her lips parted as her breath came in small gasps and moans.

She lowered her head to his shoulder, kissing his collar bone, and he felt her bite him. His eyes rolled back and he lost all control, thrusting into her deeper, faster. There was no slowing down now, and he took her wrists and pinned them above her head.

She gasped as she finished before him, her body contracting in ripples around him, and he was not far behind.

They collapsed together, and he clung to her warmth as the lights seemed to be exploding before his eyes. She had burned away his pain, as he had hoped, but it came back to him slowly as he descended from the high. All he felt was hollow and pain again, and he let his tears spill out onto her belly, let her hands sooth him.

He clung to her for a while and felt a contentment come over him.

He wasn't sure how long it was before they rose and dressed silently, but exchanging wry smiles and teasing winks. He felt things sliding back into normalcy, but a bond of greater depth now ran between Emma and himself.

"So, I can see that you are greatly valued here. They reserve only the most challenging of tasks for your skilled hands." Mark kept his eyes down at the bolt he was polishing, but smiled wickedly as he teased Emma from across the marble table.

Emma tossed a polishing rag at Mark, who dodged it without effort, laughing.

"Well, at least you all know I'm never in danger of becoming an Iron Sister. I think I'd stab myself in the eye with the weapons after so long of work like this."

"Yes, you're right," Mark spoke with the dry humor he had just recently picked back up, "The great and secret work of the Iron Sisters _is_ most likely comparable to your punishment of polishing throwing stars."

"Oh, look who has come over to the dark side of sarcasm." they laughed together before being interrupted by Julian.

His younger brother, who had probably changed the most out of all of them, strode purposefully over to the gear, saying "Gear up. We've got some Raums to deal with."

Mark had watched Emma's face light up with alarm, but for what reason, he was unsure. So he filed it away for future pondering before falling into step next to Julian.

…

Blood. There was so much blood.

It smeared the back of the car. It was splattered across their skin. It made a path from the car to the Institute steps.

All of it had spilled from Emma's torn side.

Mark was pale, following in Julian's footsteps, his heart hammering so hard, he could hear its beats in his ears. She looked so small, so fragile, in Julian's arms; sickly pale and eyes glazed over, looking at nothing.

 _She's not dead_ , he told himself, frantic and with chaos clouding his mind, _she will not die_.

Julian was murmuring to her, words that Mark could not understand, but he did not need to. Julian's tone spoke for itself.

He watched them, watched Emma and Julian in their own little bubble, impenetrable to the rest of the world, even as she lay half dead on the bed in front of them.

Julian's face was broken, his raw emotion spilling out as he clung to the girl. And she was looking at him in wonderment, a look for which many faerie languages had a word, but that any human language could not harness a meaning for.

And it clicked. Mark was frozen, watching, the horror of everything doubled as the mystery was solved.

As Emma raised her hand and cupped Julian's face, a thousand other moments came flooding into Mark's mind, each carrying a new meaning. He wondered now how he could have been so blind not to have seen.

All the times they had avoided touching each other, even casually, spoke of a physical intimacy they had shared and now yearned for, too afraid to even approach the fringes of it for fear of losing control.

The coldness in Julian's voice as he had asked Mark one day, "Does she make you happy? Can you make _her_ happy?"

The heartbreak he had seen in Emma, even as she tried to hide it from the world.

The way they were one person, even in the days that there was strain. How they moved together, how they looked at each other, how they seemed to read each other's minds. It went beyond the bonds of _parabatai_.

The whole reason Emma had asked Mark to play along in this charade.

Mark felt a pang in his chest as he forcibly removed Julian from the bedside, dragging him out the door. It had been to save Julian's life, Emma had said.

And yet he felt sick, knowing what he had done to his brother, what pain he must have inflicted every time he had touched Emma, held her, kissed her. What pain Julian would feel if he knew all the other things he had done with her.

He tried and failed to think about it in terms of right or wrong; this was not as simple as that. The things that matter most in life rarely were.

So, in the meantime, Mark just held Julian as he sobbed in his arms, sobbed for the dying girl he was forbidden to love.

…

"Julian."

Jules did not look up. His face was drawn and pale, and there were shadows under his eyes. A faint stubble darkened his chin, and his lips were pressed tightly together. At least he had changed into the clean shirt that Mark had brought him, and scrubbed away the blood and grime from his skin.

"Julian." Mark said again. This time he looked up, but it was as if he were looking right through Mark.

"I'm not leaving her."

"Julian, the children…"

"They'll be fine-"

"They need you. I try…" Mark swallowed, "I try with them. But you are the only parent they know right now. Go to them for a couple of hours. Eat with them, help Tavvy sleep. And then come back."

Julian still wasn't moving, but there was a furrow between his brow now, a crack in his stoic façade. Mark was just hoping to get him to maybe eat and sleep himself, to get out of the room for even a short time.

Mark hesitated before saying, "I will stay with Emma. I will watch over her. If anything changes, I will come and get you at once."

Julian looked at him, almost as if he were appraising him for the job. He finally relented, almost lifting up Emma's hand before stopping and setting it gently at her side. Mark suspected he had been about to kiss her hand.

As Julian walked by him, Mark pulled him into a hug and felt Julian cling to him fiercely, the boy who never asked to be taken care of because he was taking care of everyone else.

"She'll be okay. She's healing." Mark said.

He felt Julian nod against his shoulder before leaving the room, his back stiff and head straight forward, as if he were resisting the urge to turn and look at Emma again.

Mark settled into the chair Julian had vacated.

Emma was an odd, grayish color right now, her hair bright as ever against the pillow, reflecting the high noon sunlight flooding in. Cristina had cleaned her up, washed her hair, wiped away the blood and ichor, and put her into a clean nightgown. Her face was so innocent-looking in this deep slumber, the steel of her eyes hidden behind pale eyelids, her muscles relaxed. He could see the shadow of the girl he had remembered, the fiery child who wanted to be the greatest of Shadowhunters.

Mark wasn't sure how long he sat looking at her, wishing he had been able to protect her, wanting nothing more than for her to wake up. But it had been a long and restless night, wondering if she would live. And now that they knew she would, he fell asleep.

…

Mark woke to the sound of Emma stirring, jarring him back to reality.

He spoke calmly to her, her eyes dazed as they scanned her surroundings, landing on him. He looked her over, looking for signs of pain, signs of anything wrong. He helped her drink water, cradling her head in his hands. It pained him to see her so weak. There was strain in her eyes, apprehension, and he knew what she so desperately wanted to ask.

"Julian…he was hurt." The way her voice wrapped around his brother's name, Mark felt like a complete fool for not figuring it out sooner.

He avoided her eyes, "Julian is fine. Well, he's made himself fairly sick with worry. But he is fine."

Emma's eyes tightened, looking anywhere but at Mark's face.

"Octavian has been having nightmares again. And Livia has not been eating much these past few days. Julian seems to be the only one that can help them. Ty tries with Livvy, but he is quite anxious himself."

Mark watched for her reaction, but her expression had not changed, and he could see the longing there. It was an impossible situation, and Mark struggled with what to do about it.

She winced in pain, grabbing at her side, and he welcomed the change of subject, however awful the new subject was.

"The Silent Brothers had to use nearly everything at their disposal to keep you from dying. You are covered with some pretty strong runes, which will sap your strength. They said to warn you that as the painless runes begin to fade, the pain will increase."

Emma nodded in reply, and Mark stayed silent, weighing his next words.

"Emma, why do you put yourself in the path of such danger?"

"We were sent there to get rid of the Raum demons. I was just doing my job."

Mark did not reply, knowing that her falseness would answer for him.

"I know why you asked me to lie." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he did not regret saying it.

"What?" she asked, her voice sharp as a whip, and Mark watched as her eyes widened, her fingers tightening into fists in the blankets.

"It must be terrible, to suffer so in silence." He knew what heartache was, even if it was of a different variety.

If possible, Emma had become paler, her chest rising in quicker breaths.

Mark stood, "We shall keep lying, Emma, if that is what you think will save you and my brother. But it will have to remain a lie from now on."

He didn't even want to do that. He was a Betrayer of Brothers, one of the worst things a man could be. He had touched the woman his brother loved, shared his heart and received her love in return. He had not known he was betraying his brother, and he did not blame Emma, as he knew she was doing what she thought was best, but it did not make him feel any less sick to his stomach.

"I will get him." Mark turned from the room.

The hollow feeling he had had after being with Emma had since been filled with a hundred emotions, and now he felt as if he may burst. But for now, everyone was alive, nearly everyone was together, and they would sleep that night knowing that Emma would be okay.

At least until her next battle, Mark thought with bemusement.

Julian was in the kitchen, a sleeping Tavvy cradled in his lap, Livvy across the table from him. Dru had locked herself away in her room, probably with a horror story of some sort to distract her from the horrors of real life, and Ty was likely in the library.

Livvy was picking at the sandwich in front of her, which gave Mark relief.

At the sight of Mark, the two of them stiffened, eyes widened. Jules stood abruptly, but carefully enough not to wake Tavvy.

"She's awake."

Within seconds, Jules was handing Tavvy off to Mark and running, but the child did not stay asleep for long. Livvy had also stood quickly, her chair scraping loudly on the floor as she ran out, saying "I'll go tell the others."

Mark looked down at Tavvy, blinking sleepily and smiling slightly to see his oldest brother.

"Hello there, little one."

Tavvy giggled, "I'm not little anymore, remember?"

Mark smiled, "That is right, I do remember."

Mark set him on his feet, and the little boy took hold of his hand automatically, as if it were natural. It was still a gesture that melted Mark's heart.

"Let's go see what the others have gotten up to."

Tavvy smiled and tugged at his hand, dragging him up the stairs, not wanting to be left out of any of the fun.

…

Christina had held the group at bay for a short time, sharing a knowing look with Mark. Mark watched and listened as she explained to the children that "Emma and Julian need to speak privately. We must allow the _parabatai_ their moments after a fight to decompress."

Mark realized she knew, too, after hearing that load of bullshit, but it had worked on the children for a short time.

When they all finally piled into the room, Mark watched carefully, saw their clasped hands and their content faces, wondering what would become of his strong and ruthless baby brother and his steel and sunshine _parabatai._

Whatever it was, he decided to leave it for another day, and simply enjoyed the moments the family had now, moments he cherished after having missed so many.


End file.
